Blue jeans in "A" minor

So I decided to tweek my style a bit. I hope you guys dig. This piece is made in chavant clay *medium* over plumbers pipe and aluminum foil. Its stands 19 1/2 inches and will be cast in Hydrocal. I will only make two copies of this doll and will strike the mold. Eventually she will be painted. At the moment I am working on getting all of the "last call" pieces ready for shipping so for all of you who have placed your order, your stuff should be ready to roll June 18th. I also have prints coming with in the next week so check back for updates. Thank you all for your support.
By the way I will have two of my sculptures featured in Alberto Ruiz's "Eye candy from strangers" book so go check out his site(over in my links section) for updates on that. This piece is a portrait of a sweet doll who brought stability to a turbulent night. Her name is Jessie Payo.

Blue jeans in "A" minor

Its 8:15am on Thursday morning and I can’t recall why work gave me the rest of the week off but I believe it had to do something with Christmas. I lay in bed staring at the wood panel ceiling decorating the converted one car garage which I rent for 320 a month. I can make out three faces in the wood grain, a water faucet, and a lamb chop. God, I’m hungry. I got 2 missed calls on my cell phone and a text message from some gal I lost interest in two weeks prior. One of the missed calls is Anita, a Filipino chick I met in Downey about a month ago. She was straight up from the Philippines, born and raised and still had an accent. What a cutie, almost worth pursuing into the abyss, but then again, a wise man once said, “…in the game of women you pay far too much for far too little”. At the moment the only woman worth pursuing is the one pushing a Ralph’s shopping cart filled with tamales at 8:30 in the morning. I get out of bed and throw on my peacoat and wait outside for the Tamalera to pass by. She’s running late. Its well past 8:30, and the morning is taking its sweet time to warm up. I finally hear the rickety racket of the shopping cart followed by her siren of a voice shouting, “Tamaleeeeeees, Taaaaaamales” I buy dos tamales de pollo y un champurrado for three dollars in coins. There’s almost 30 cents in pennies. I retreat within the compound of my fortress of solitude and ponder, over my tamales, what sweet adventures the night will bring.

My brother calls later that evening and invites me up to a show later that night. I dig in my pockets and pull out 37 dollars and 28 cents and tell him,
“I only got ten bucks, so drinks are on you tonight, what time do we roll?”.
He says, “9 o’clock”
Its 7:30 and I got no clean clothes. It will take me 20 minutes to drive down to visit my parents and kill two birds with one stone by washing at the Laundromat next to their place. It takes about 30 minutes to wash and 45 to dry. This gives me no time to waste. I hang up the phone with my bro and gather a few quarters and head to my parents place. I go thru and separate the whites and throw my boxers and socks in with the darks because after all, who cares if they bleed together and I wash my denim separate anyways. I play arcade games till the wash is done, throw all my rags into one big dryer, and head back to my parents house to shower. I’m on scheduled for once when things take a turn for the worse. Upon returning for my clothes, much too my dismay, I found the dryer empty. I ask around to see if anyone saw who might have “mistakenly” taken my clothes. Some lady comes up to me and tells me that a couple of bums who hangout near the liquor store trashcans came and took the clothes. She said they kind of looked suspicious at first but then she thought nothing of it when she noticed them folding the clothes carefully, those sons of bitches. I ran out and searched up and down the block for those bastards and all I found was their schizophrenic counterpart, a bum that goes by the name “El Guatemala”. I harassed him for a while but the fucker wouldn’t budge. I came close to swinging on him but my conscious wouldn’t forgive me….. My father on the other hand, once learning that el Guatemala’s friends stole my clothes, wasted no time in slugging the bastard till he fess’d up or threw up. I was hesitant to restrain my father from beating el Guatemala to a pulp but the neighbors started to come out and it wouldn’t be good for my dad’s rep.

I found a pair of jeans that I hadn’t worn since high school in an old drawer at my parent’s place. I sprayed them down with Fabreez to cover up the smell of mothballs and threw on one of my dads dress shirts. Those where some cool jeans I lost, they where just the right kind of hue of blue, you know what I mean? I had worn those things for a week straight just to get that color. My work shirts where gone too but I didn’t worry much about those. I had only paid 3 for $10 at the Paramount swap meet but those jeans man, they where something. I hope those bums pick up a rash from wearing my underwear, those sick fucks. I was still pissed and looking to let out the rest of my frustration on el Guatemala but I said fuck it, lets roll.

We stroll into the show at about quarter to ten and I feel like a throw rag. I order up a beer and slouch into my stool. The doll performing that night goes by the name of Jessie Payo. She came on, 3 beers into my self therapy session. She sat on stage, dwarfed by her guitar, with the elegance of a Victorian queen and looked as prominent as the Virgin Mary. I envy that guitar. Her broken nose adorns her smiling eyes and her face carries the smile that will end all wars. I allow her voice to reach the darkest corner of my soul and drive my demons out. How sweet a song becomes when you hear her sing it. Soon, her tunes vibrate the sweat off the walls in the joint and form a river that can only lead to nirvana. Help me, Jessie Payo help me forget about my faults and my mistakes which have come in the form of a deceiving women one too many times. Save me Jessie Payo, for your voice is the only thing that can sooth my soul tonight. Forgive me Jessie Payo, for having wasted such a sweet performance on a depression that was brought on by a lost pair of blue jeans.

The hangover greets me like a nine pound hammer dropping from a two story window. I decided to call Anita back but she wouldn’t answer. After 2 failed attempts over the course of the day I decided to not call her anymore and erased her number from my phone. She called me back later that night and upon recognizing her voice, I hung up.
-Red Rooster 2007